


Good Fortune Witch Hunter

by prettybirdy979



Series: Pure Imagination [5]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Case Fic, Gen, Kidnapping, Magic, Magic Revealed, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 08:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20386969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettybirdy979/pseuds/prettybirdy979
Summary: Brett is not magic. Brett has never been magic and will never be magic.But he grew up with Foggy Nelson as an enemy, and as honourary cousin to the whole Nelson family. He's picked up a few tricks, enough that actual witches sometimes can't tell he's not magic.That's how he ended up in this Magic Cops group.And how this murder case just became his biggest problem right now.





	Good Fortune Witch Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> The last fic in this series was posted 2016. This fic was started around then... and is finally seeing the light of day.
> 
> Here's hoping it's worth the wait. Huge thanks to [ the WIP Big Bang](https://wipbigbang.tumblr.com/) for making me finish this. And with AMAZING art from Shuufleur!
> 
> Finally a thousand thank yous to Zwaluw who's been a cheerleader for this fic since the beginning and whose betaing made this so much better. And a thousand more thanks to Rdyest who also helped with the last minute beta (literally) and made this fic actually make grammatical sense.

He’s only there to guard the place, to keep the pressing crowds back while the ‘important’ people process and analyse the scene. Brett’s well aware of his job and his ranking around here, especially when the two new dumbass detectives Woods and Clancy muscle past to start looking around. 

But he’s also not an idiot. Runes on the doorframes, bag of herbs hiding on the window sill, and the exact same crystals that surround his apartment sitting at every entrance to the place he can see. Evidence yes, but evidence for a conclusion he hopes the detectives in there will never jump to. 

Their murder victims, a young couple stabbed then burnt beyond recognition, were witches.

...Oh God damn it, this is going to end up his problem, isn’t it?

********

As he does with everything magical, Brett blames Foggy Nelson for his current position as part of the ‘Magic Cops’ (he’s been trying to get them to change the name but everyone seems to think that while it’s simple, it conveys the idea behind them well enough). It’s his fault Brett knows enough about magic to pass for a witch. Well, the years of magic lessons Brett ended up sitting in on probably helped, but that was a side product of being babysat by Aunt Anna and then Grandma and Grandpa Nelson when they’d swapped homes to give the Nelson kids a backyard and get Grandpa Nelson back into Hell’s Kitchen.

Point is, it’s Foggy’s fault. Always. 

‘Sarge? You okay?’ Sally Gomez, one of his few remaining friends in the station, asks, bringing him out of his thoughts. 

Brett sighs. ‘Yeah, just had a long day. You know the sort?’ She laughs and nods and he adds, ‘Gonna go straight to my bar and take a long drink of sweet elixir.’ Gomez straightens to her not overly impressive height, her smile slipping off her face for a second before it slinks back, however forced it now seems. 

‘Sounds good. I might round up a bunch of our favourite cats and see if any of them are free to come out.’ Message received. 

‘Keep the numbers down, say eight or so. Don’t want to crowd out the place.’ Talking in code always makes Brett feel absolutely ridiculous. He swears it only happens because makes MacDonalds and Nelson think they’re spies. But as they’re the seniors of the little group… well even Brett trusts their judgement. If they say talk in code, then you bet he’s going to talk in code. Especially when standing at the front desk of the busy station, no matter how few people seem to be paying them any attention.

‘See you there.’

*********

Brett wanders into MacDonalds’ place dead on eight, stepping over her cat who looks up at him with a single beady eye before rolling over and going back to sleep. ‘Lazy beast,’ he says fondly, nudging her with a foot. She meows softly and bats at his foot, making him smile.

‘If I didn’t know better, I’d accuse you of magicking my cat,’ MacDonalds - Irene, now they’re off duty - calls from the kitchen. Brett rolls his eyes at her and drops onto her comfortable sofa, as pink as the walls around them. Irene might be one of the toughest women in their station but no one would guess it from her living room. More flowers here than you’d find in a cemetery. ‘Don’t fall asleep before everyone else gets here.’

‘I’m the one who called it, I ain’t sleeping,’ Brett snaps as Irene makes her way into the room, tray of cups floating before her because her hands are full with the plates of cookies. There’s a reason they always hold meetings of their silly club at her place and it’s not just because she can make a mean cup of cocoa. He takes a cup and a pair of cookies, avoiding her slap as he tries for a third. 

‘Not yet,’ she says, pushing her red hair out of her eyes. ‘Save some for the rest of us!’ 

Nelson - Johnny in here and he’s not a direct relation to Foggy’s family but there’s probably some common blood there; Kitchen’s too small for there not to be - comes in then, stepping on the cat as usual. She hisses, and a second later Johnny screeches, a high pitched noise that has Brett covering his ears and the cat fleeing. 

‘Course Helen could like me best because I don’t step on her,’ Brett laughs, already digging for the first aid kit in the coffee table’s drawers. 

Irene sighs. ‘Could be. Take a seat there Johnny, we’ll see what damage you’ve done.’

‘Bloody cat,’ Johnny growls, already patting at the blood on his legs with the tissues left on the table just for him. Brett’s not sure how he’s not learnt his lesson about the cat yet, but it looks like this scratch isn’t deep enough to add to the many other streaks of red that mar his pale skin. For someone big enough to make their cars look cramped, Johnny gets on the bad side of a lot of small animals. Brett saw him mauled by a bird once; it’s sharp beak leaving deep scars. He swears there’s more scars on Johnny from animals than crooks.

It’s then - ten minutes late as per usual - that the last of their little group, Sally walks in.

And she’s not alone. 

The room freezes as they all take in the person who’s half hiding behind her, despite the fact he’s at least two heads taller - a good head taller than Brett to be honest. It takes him a moment to place the young man; he’s one of the rookies that’s just transferred in. Of course, his name currently escapes Brett. Looking at the room with wide, brown eyes, the rookie does a small, twitching moment that might be a wave.

‘Hi?’

Irene just nods in acknowledgement while Johnny goes back to trying to bandage up his wounds. Sally sighs and drags the rookie into the room, pushing him into the single chair before collapsing into the sofa beside Brett with a groan, her loose hair flopping everywhere.

For his part, Brett nods at the kid. ‘Got a name kid?’

‘Ah, Tom?’ Brett raises an eyebrow and Tom adds, ‘Hall. Tom Hall.’ 

‘Brett Mahoney.’ Tom opens his mouth but Brett keeps going, ‘you know Sally. Johnny Nelson and Irene MacDonald.’

Tom’s eyes are somehow even wider, his hands twitching in his lap. ‘I ah, know Sarge?’ 

‘No,’ Brett snaps and the kid shrinks back, causing him to sigh. ‘In here, there’s no ranks kid. We’re all equals or this group’ll get awkward fast.’

‘Not to mention we’ll stop being able to help witches in the Kitchen if we’re all focused on rank and procedure here,’ Irene adds dryly and yup, the kid flinches. ‘Ah. First time admitting it then?’

Tom nods. ‘It’s ah, new to me.’ Everyone gives him a look and he adds, ‘Admitting it. Magic. It’s… it’s a family thing, you know?’ One of his hands darts up to rake through his short black hair and he ducks his head.

Everyone nods. ‘Right,’ Brett says. ‘Well welcome kid and if you betray us, we’ll make you wish you’d never heard of us.’ Everyone stares at Tom and he bites his lip, the tension in the room almost seeming to freeze it. He then nods, so fast he resembles one of those bobbing heads on a dashboard.

They all relax at once, as if signaled and Brett passes out the other drinks. Irene made enough for everyone, even Tom, but Brett’s willing to bet that’s less to do with her abilities and more to do with the fact there used to be more of them here.

Thank God that while Dominic was crooked, he wasn’t stupid enough to cross the curse. Their little group is still safe, no matter the betrayal. 

‘Why are we here?’ Johnny asks, putting the last of the bandages back into the drawer. ‘I could be at home with the missus instead of fighting evil cats.’

‘My fault,’ Brett says with a sigh. ‘Got my eyes on a case I think we all should keep our attention on.’ He puts his cookie down and focuses. ‘The double murder, the one with the burnt bodies.’

Sally tilts her head, her long brown hair brushing Brett’s shoulder with the movement. ‘Thought that was just burning to hide the evidence, nothing worth calling us together for-’

‘They were witches, I’d bet my badge on it.’ Everyone gasps but none louder than Tom.

‘Suspicion or confirmed?’ Johnny asks.

Brett shrugs. ‘Protective runes on doorways, herb spells on window sills… the whole deal. Better than anything I’ve got and I have a near army of paranoid witches blessing Ma’s place and mine whenever they can. So confirmed I’d say.’

Tom blinks in confusion. ‘Wait, didn’t you just feel the magic?’

‘Not all of us are magic kid,’ Sally says and Tom gives Brett a panicked look. 

He ignores it. He doesn’t have to justify himself, not right now. ‘If one of you could swing by the scene and co-’

‘We trust you Brett,’ Irene says. ‘I’ll poke around the case, see if whoever’s on it has any leads that might be mundane.’ As the only detective in their little group, it’s always Irene’s job to poke around but Brett supposes she might be saying so for their newbie. ‘Might also check to see if any other bodies have popped up like this, just in case.’

Johnny nods. ‘I’ll poke around too, see if I can talk to the guys that got there first. Maybe they’ll know something we don’t.’

‘And the rest of us will keep our eyes open,’ Brett says, looking straight at Tom. ‘See what turns up.’

********

Another body is what turns up.

‘Three bodies actually,’ MacDonalds says softly as she sits down across from Brett in the break room, pushing a second cup of coffee across to him. ‘But this one came in last night. Stabbed and burnt, like your two, in his home. Definitely the same as the others.’

Brett does the math. ‘So five victims all up.’ He takes a sip of the coffee she gave him and isn’t surprised to find it’s perfect. Sometimes he loves magic and what it can do to the station’s awful attempts at caffeine. 

MacDonalds nods. ‘Yup. I think I’m the first to make the connection; first two were homeless women. One was written off as an accident, the other… well no one is looking into it, with how understaffed we are.’ And she was homeless, so who cares? 

With a deep sigh Brett asks, ‘Are they your cases now?’

‘No.’ She sighs and running a hand through her short hair. ‘I’m overworked as it is,’ she says with a gesture that indicates her helplessness, ‘and if I point out the connection they’ll probably hand the cases over to Woods and Clancy anyway before…’

‘Before asking you how you made the connection,’ Brett finishes. ‘Damn it. When was the first body found?’

‘Two months ago, day after the Fisk arrest.’ 

It feels like Brett’s swallowed something cold and it’s settled in his heart. ‘Five people in two months?’ MacDonalds nods. ‘This is a serial killer, we can’t sit on it.’

MacDonalds growls slightly as she shakes her head, looking so terrifying, Brett shivers. Leaning forwards, she drops into an even quieter whisper. ‘The _ only _ link between all five is how he disposed of them. The second woman was shot and there were no signs of violence on the first woman. Other than all being burnt, there’s no apparent connection. Woods and Clancy should pick this new case up, if they’ve any sense but to get them to add the first two… well we’d have to admit they were all practicing witches and none of them were out about it - no Wiccan signs in their homes or on their person; everything was safely hidden away. Brett, you know the secret is the most important piece of protection we have-’

He holds up a hand. ‘I know. I know alright.’ With a sigh, he drinks the last of his coffee. ‘I’ll start asking around, see if anyone in the community knows anything.’ Before she can say anything he adds, ‘I know it’s risky but if they turn their attention to me, there’s nothing to find.’

‘They might find whoever taught you,’ MacDonalds says softly. _ Find the witches you protect, _ she does not need to say. Brett’s never given up Foggy’s secret, not even to these people.

Brett knows his answering smile is dark and dangerous, full of the memory of kidnappers driven to suicidal madness by a child’s panicked magic. He’s never forgotten the lesson he learnt that day, no matter how much of magic’s goodness he’s learnt since. ‘They’ll regret it.’

********

‘Foggy! Got a minute?’

Foggy looks up from the counter he’s been examining, bright smile already in place. ‘Brett my man! Sure, just let me place my order. You right to walk and talk? I have to get back before my coworkers go mad from lack of coffee.’

‘Aren’t they already mad?’ Brett says, gesturing at him to go ahead. ‘They work with you after all.’

‘That, that is a low blow. And completely true, but a low blow.’ The laughter in Foggy’s voice undermines the anger on his face. He quickly places an order for three coffees and four slices. Brett chooses not to speak while they’re waiting, instead taking the slice Foggy offers him as a bribe to carry all the food.

‘So, what can I do for you Sarge?’ Foggy teases when they’re well on their way back to his office.

Brett sighs. He shouldn’t be doing this but… ‘You can keep your head down.’ He can practically hear Foggy’s blinks of confusion and adds, ‘There’s… there’s a killer in the Kitchen right now, with a pretty specific type of target. You meet it.’ He pauses, biting his lip before managing to add, ‘You might wanna watch your back.’ There. Foggy might be the most annoying person in the whole damned city, always able to find trouble or danger but now he’s warned. Should help somewhat.

Foggy stops dead, forcing Brett to do so too. ‘How specific a target?’ He asks, none of his usual jolliness in his voice. 

‘...You should probably go out to the ‘burbs to see your parents.’ _ Keep them out of the city _, Brett thinks but does not say. ‘Maybe lose any more obvious signs of your family for a bit.’

‘Oh shit,’ Foggy says with wide eyes. ‘Brett, seriously. How many?’

‘I can’t say,’ Brett grits out, shaking his head. ‘I shouldn’t even be telling you this much…’

‘Brett,’ Foggy says, taking the bag of food from his hands and moving in close, so no one can see his lips, ‘I’m not the only witch in Hell’s Kitchen.’

That gets a laugh. ‘I’m well aware.’

‘I’m not the only witch in my office,’ Foggy admits in a soft voice that is somehow a blow to Brett.

‘What?’ There’s only two other people in Nelson and Murdock so either Brett’s missed that Murdock’s a witch for the last five years - God has it been five years since Foggy introduced them? - or he completely missed that the woman whose case he threw to Foggy was a witch. Neither option is appealing.

‘You heard me. So, I kinda need to know how serious this is before I start passing on the warnings.’

Taking a long sigh, Brett glances around. ‘Five in two,’ he bites out as he steps back.

‘Years?’ Foggy says with wide eyes, his breathing picking up. 

It’s going to be a blow…. ‘Months,’ he admits, and Foggy physically stumbles. ‘Like I said, keep your head down. I’m going to be poking around so you might wanna stay clear for a bit.’

‘Why? You’re not in danger-’

‘But you might be,’ Brett cuts in and Foggy looks like he just kissed him - again. ‘And my Ma’ll kill me if I got you caught up in a mess, then Aunt Anna’ll bring me back to do it herself.’

That gets a shaky laugh out of Foggy, as Brett expected. ‘Can’t have that, can we?’ Brett gives him his usual annoyed wave goodbye and turns to walk off. He’s only a few steps away when Foggy calls, ‘Hey Brett?’ getting him to turn back around. ‘Take care.’

Foggy walks off before Brett can form a reply.

******** 

It’s almost too easy to get the case files for the first two bodies, dumped in a filing cabinet to be forgotten. Exactly as Irene said. Brett gets a copy of both in record time and the drawer they came from is so messy no one’ll notice they’ve been touched. He’s almost glad for the lack of attention these murders are being given.

Actually he’s not. Not at all. But he’s giving them the attention they deserve now; so that’ll have to do.

Irene slips him a copy of the other three files as there’s no way Brett’s capable enough to ‘borrow’ and copy files from a detective’s active case. But Irene has both the access and the skills; there’s a reason half the station are convinced she’s a female Chuck Norris and it’s not because they both have red hair.

Brett takes them all home, covering his desk - and the cupboards beside it and the walls, when he runs out of room to display the pictures that he’s ignoring for now - with the files’ contents. He even locks his office door, just in case his Ma comes home and gets to work trying to find something - anything - that might help him find their killer. 

Two files, that of the first two victims Catherine Parker and Sarah Giles, are depressingly empty, with only a dozen pieces of paper between them. Catherine has just three; her identification, a witness statement from some dock worker that found her remains, and the medical examiner’s report. 

There’s nothing of interest there, not even from the witness, so Brett puts them aside. Sarah’s is just as empty, with only a few more witness statements taken by a disinterested cop. He’d not even bothered to take any details for most of the witnesses - hell, he’s not even got a name or occupation for the man who found them! No one heard anything, no one saw anything. Somehow a woman was shot and burn-

Possibly burnt while still alive, Sarah’s medical examiner's report says. Inclusive evidence. 

Dear God.

Brett does the only thing he can, letting the report drop from his rubbery fingers to flutter down to his desk while he falls into his chair. Burnt alive, oh fucking hell what has he gotten himself into. It’s everything he thought it might be and hoped it wouldn’t be. Dear God.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

It takes a while, but the shaking in his hands stops and he gets enough of his thoughts together. Slowly, he hunts through the papers on his desk, looking for the next two files. His hand brushes Sarah’s medical examiner’s report and he snatches it back as if bur- fuck shit, no. As if scalded. Finally, he finds the files he needs and he pushes his chair away from the desk to read.

It’s the file of the couple whose home Brett guarded, the witches whose murders have set him on this path. Unlike Catherine and Sarah, these two actually have useful things in their files. Rosa and Fred Witt, newly married and Hell’s Kitchen’s locals, found dead after neighbours and some passers by reported the fire. There’s a dozen eye witness statements, from neighbours to garbage men, and all of them who knew the couple keep talking about how happy they’d been recently. How nice the wedding was. How good it was for them to finally manage this big day.

Hell, Brett remembers his Ma talking about Rosa’s wedding, raving about how kids these days have no respect for tradition and good on them for it. They’d not been close enough friends for Brett to attend the wedding, but well, it’s Hell’s Kitchen. Everyone knows everyone, even if only by name or face. He swears that the Kitchen’s so small som-

Wait. 

Brett goes back to Catherine’s file, pushing paper after paper aside to make a bigger mess of his desk, until he finds the piece he wants. The birth certificate they’d used to ID her. Manhattan. He scrambles for Sarah’s papers, finding the battered and expired driver’s licence. Her last address before moving onto the streets is in Hell’s Kitchen. Looking at the photo, of a grey haired and tired woman, Brett feels something icy creeping down his spine. 

He knows that face. He _ knows _ that face. She’s the coffee lady, always asking for a coffee Friday afternoons, outside the Starbucks everyone loves to hate. Brett’s taken her one or two himself, on cold days. Soft spoken, she always thanks him… thanked him.

God above, she’s dead. Sometimes he really hates this job.

He just stares at the photo, lost in the memories of warm coffees and snowy days; of watching the small kindnesses of strangers to a woman now lost to the vicious acts of a monster. But finally, he bites his lip, takes another long and deep breath, and makes himself look at the photos they have. 

It’s like being hit with a hammer to the chest. Catherine’s photo is old, faded and nearly yellow but he’s familiar enough with the face of the screaming banshee of the docks to recognise her. As kids, Foggy and Brett used to make a game of trying to provoke her, only realising later she was trying, in her own way, to keep them from the freezing water’s edge. Rosa and Fred’s photo is their wedding photo, and it looks familiar enough Brett’s sure he’s already seen it. They’re smiling, Rosa’s blue dress a stark contrast to Fred’s pink suit, untraditional but then Brett knows enough of Rosa to remember her liking to spit in tradition’s face.

The final photo is from the file Brett’s not touched, a middle aged man found stabbed and burnt in his home. Daniel Adams… oh dear God, Brett knows this man. Not like the others, a familiar face or name that pops up in Ma’s stories; but an actual, personal connection. Daniel owns the second best bakery in Hell’s Kitchen, his spicy rolls and sweet tarts only losing out to the more expensive place three blocks up. The sight of him kneading dough is one every person in the whole damned city knows; always willing to slow down his big hands to show a curious child what he’s doing. His gruff voice, rarely heard and never raised in anger, echoes in Brett’s ears; lost forever now. 

He isn’t... wasn’t even sure Daniel was a witch, though he’d had his suspicions. Foggy’s avoidance of Daniel’s bakery could have been either him wanting to avoid magical mishaps or just an actual preference for the slightly better, if pricier bakery.

He lets his head fall back - or does it just fall back and he can’t find the strength to stop it? - and stares at the ceiling, trying to work out the lump in his throat. It’s the job, he can do this. It’s the job, he can work through this.

It takes a while, for his thoughts to clear enough for him to focus. Getting his head back up, pulling down the photos and hiding them in a drawer so he doesn’t have to look at the faces of the people the police have failed. Slowly gathering together the bits of Daniel’s file, to compare to Rosa and Fred’s…

In a minute at least.

He pulls out a notepad and scrambles around, looking for a pen. Five people dead, all of them born in Hell’s Kitchen - or here so long as to not matter. 

No wait, Fred was from Queens. Brett notes that down, in case it’s important. It’s probably not… but right now, he’s leaving no stone unturned. Five victims in two months is _ horrific _ and if this was any other case he’d be making so much noise about it.

But it’s not. Too much noise and he’ll alert the killer.

Too much noise and he might put his friends - hell at this point they’re his _ family - _at risk.

Nothing is worth that.

Not even a life.

********

The water is fuzzy.

Brett blinks, staring at it.

It stares back, endless white eyes hidden in neverending tides. A bell rings, rhythmic and endless. 

And rings.

And rings.

Brett blinks himself awake and looks over at his phone. He barely has time to register the ‘Tom Calling’ before the call ends and his screen goes back.

Adrenaline surges through Brett when the phone instantly starts to ring again. He lunges for the phone and answers it, barely noting that it again says ‘Tom Calling’.

‘Brett speaking.’

_ ‘Sar- Brett. It’s Tom.’ _ Brett bites down the urge to make a smartass comment; they only exchanged numbers a day or so ago. Maybe Tom’s forgotten about caller ID.

God, has it only been a few days since their meeting?

‘What’s wrong Tom?’

‘_ Another body,’ _ Tom says in a harsh whisper and Brett’s blood runs cold. ‘ _ I’m supposed to be helping guard the scene…’ _

‘Let me know what you see,’ Brett says and goes to hang up.

‘Wait!’ Tom cries, far louder than anything he’s said the entire call. ‘_ I’m not calling just as an update; I’m giving you a heads up.’ _

Brett sits up, absently pulling off a piece of paper that’s stuck to his skin. ‘What for?’

‘_ Daredevil found her.’ _

Daredevil. God damn it. Of course he did. Nothing is more complicated than any case Daredevil decides to stick his nose into, least of all a case that might involve magic. Brett’s not sure if the vigilante is magic or not, but he’s somehow certain the man knows it exists. Well. Maybe.

It’s just… there’s… there is something about him that screams ‘I know all your secrets’ when he talks. It’s half the reason Brett would like to punch him - the whole getting his arse beat being the other half.

Oh and yeah, the vigilantism. That too.

‘Stumbled across or went looking?’ Brett gets up, stretching out some of the kinks in his back. He’s going to have to go out soon, he can feel it.

‘_ Don’t think anyone knows,’ _ Tom says. ‘ _ Not like he sticks around for interviews…’ _True.

‘Why are you telling me this? We could’ve called a meeting-’

‘_ I saw him, just before I called. He’s on a roof near the scene,’ _ Tom pauses for a long moment, then says an address so fast Brett’s sure the only reason he catches it is because he knows Hell’s Kitchen like the back of his hand. ‘ _ I think… I think he’s looking for you _.’

He’s _ what?! _

‘Looking for me?’ Brett starts looking for his keys, throwing all the papers on his desk into whatever random folder is closest. Gotta make this just tidy enough no one will come looking to clean it.

‘_ He hovered around the sergeants and well… you’re _ you _ .’ _

Brett’s Brett, that’s right. Sergeant Mahoney, the Devil whisperer. Somehow the only person that can get information to and from Daredevil - even if he’s still not managed to arrest the bastard. Because of Fisk, he’s now known as the one man that can be trusted on Hell’s Kitchen’s police force and thus the only one measurably benefiting in any way from having a vigilante on the streets.

In the months since Daredevil started sending crooks to Brett he’s yet to escape the whispers. Not helped by the fact Daredevil. Keeps. Sending. Him. People. 

Asshole.

‘I’m on my way.’

********

Brett’s two blocks from the address Tom gave him when he sees a shadow dart into an alleyway. He’s following it before he has time to register what he’s doing, feet moving faster than his brain.

‘Daredevil,’ he says the moment he’s far enough in to be out of sight of the road.

Sure enough there’s a bang from behind him and cursing, Brett turns to face Daredevil. ‘You needed me.’

Brett frowns. ‘How did you know?’

Daredevil smirks, shifting so his hands are by his side and he’s all but leaning against the nearby wall. ‘Heard your rookie called you; only reason you’d come this fast is if it was urgent and you needed me.’

Well put like that, it almost makes sense. Except for the bit where Daredevil _ heard _ the call. And came looking for Brett… like it’s important.

‘Heard you found a body tonight.’ Daredevil tilts his head, an entire question in that movement. ‘Just wondering if you were looking for it, that’s all.’

Daredevil quirks his lips. ‘I’d been keeping an eye out, yes. Word on the streets has it there’s a group of people I need to look out for, seeing as though they’re nearly invisible to the police force.’

That is _ almost _ an admission of magic. Almost. Brett seizes the chance no other officer is going to get. ‘You see anything before we got there?’

‘No,’ Daredevil says with far more amusement than that statement could ever warrant. ‘I didn’t see anyone.’ He pauses, a long moment that nothing in Brett could ever make him break, before adding, ‘Didn’t hear anyone either. I smelled the smoke and by the time I got there the body was halfway to ashes.’

Brett really needs more information from the scene, but right now he’ll work with what he has. ‘You knew her?’

‘I… I don’t know. The flames were… distracting.’ For the first time in a long while, the smirk slips off Daredevil’s face as he fidgets. That’s new. Since when does the vigilante admit to being human? 

‘I might know the name, when you identify her,’ Daredevil adds. ‘I’ve known all the others.’

Ice races through Brett’s veins. ‘The others?’

That damned smirk creeps back onto Daredevil’s face. ‘I believe this makes six Sergeant.’ 

Brett’s heart starts to pound, his mouth dry. _ Who told Daredevil? _ ‘How-’

‘There’s no conversation in Hell’s Kitchen I can’t hear,’ Daredevil says and if Brett could see his eyes, he’s sure they’d be doing that mischievous twinkling shit books always talk about. ‘But I’m also not a closed minded idiot. I see more than others and I know a few things - like how to link five burnt bodies in two months.’

‘Coindence-’

‘We both know that’s not true.’ Daredevil jerks, half turning towards the mouth of the alleyway. ‘If you need me, yell.’

Then he’s halfway up the wall he’d been near before Brett can so much as speak. ‘Wait!’ Brett cries just as Daredevil disappears over the rooftop.

To his surprise Daredevil sticks his head back out. ‘Yes?’

‘You’re not just a superpowered asshole are you?’

Daredevil smiles, the same one he’d given Brett the day he’d captured Fisk. ‘What do you think Sergeant?’

And then he’s gone.

‘Fucking asshole,’ Brett swears as he wanders out of the alleyway, just dodging the garbage man walking past and wrinkling his nose at the smell.. 

As he walks, he texts Irene and then the rest of the group.

They have more work to do.

*********

Annette Smiths. 

Fifty-two years old, of no fixed abode but generally found in the shetlers of Hell’s Kitchen. Her face isn’t one Brett recognises as he looks over the file MacDonalds’ snuck out to him, but it’s also not one he could rule out as never having seen. There’s a lot of people in the City but it is also, somehow, the tiniest place on Earth. 

Someone will know her.

Brett’s phone dings, bringing him out of his thoughts. He checks it to see a text from Johnny.

_ VS last seen in an alleyway three blocks from scene. Begging, found her candles and quote “weird card shit” there _

_ tarot? _Sally fires back, and Johnny sends a blurry picture.

_ damn, i know those. legit _. 

Brett grimaces at the confirmation they all knew was coming. Annette was another witch, killed just two days after their last victim. How is someone this profilic not making any mistakes?

_ Strangled this time. Fire burnt lower body no evidence but the firefighters managed to preserve the neck. Woods and Clancy not picking it as theres. _Irene adds to their group text (Tom’s idea, but Brett’s starting to wish he’d thought of it before).

_ no witnesses????? _

Brett shakes his head at Tom then sends: _ Only Daredevil and he’s saying there wasn’t anyone there _

_ ...damn you _ are _ the devil whisperer _

_ Can it Tom _.

*********

The next day, Brett’s no further. He only has papers and pieces of peoples’ lives that he can’t assemble. Even visiting the crime scenes doesn’t help; they’re all so different, so _ random _ and two of them are homes besides - no access for him there.

Plus Hell’s Kitchen is so small that any pattern in location could just be coincidence. Which is all he has right now, six dead people and a bunch of things that might be a connection.

Oh yeah. He also has a killer. A killer targeting the witches of Hell’s Kitchen - his _ friends. _ His _ family _.

Brett’s alarm rings, screaming at him that it’s time to give up on the files and head into work. Running his hands over the witness reports for all the discovered bodies, he gets up with a crack in his abused back. 

And pauses.

Catherine Parker and Sarah Giles were both found by strangers though only one has an occupation listed. He pulls the report; he’s listed as being a dock worker - but the company listed is the _ garbage _ company. 

A _ familiar _ company. Brett’s seen their name a thousand times, but right now all he can see is it listed in black and white on a different report. A report he’s sure he has _ here _.

Brett pulls Rosa and Fred’s report, a rushing sound in his ears. Yes, Rosa and Fred Witt’s bodies were found by the fire bridage technically but the actual fire was reported by at least one garbage man. Brett pulls out his interview.

It’s the same company.

Scrambling, Brett finds Daniel Adams witness reports. Again, found by the fire bridage responding to a fire but reported by -

Neighbours. Only neighbours. 

Brett sighs. He’s making up connections now; desperate for a clue that’ll solve this case. Reaching for anything that might make this easy, that might work in his favour. Hell, he’s even risking everything to work with fucking _ Daredevil _ in the _ open _. All it’d take was one person seeing them together too many times like last night-

Wait. Last night. The scent of garbage fills his nose and lingers on his tongue. He’d nearly walked into a garbage man, headed right towards the scene. He fishes out the reports for Daniel and yes, one of the witnesses mentions being woken by the garbage truck _ before _ she’d smelled smoke and called in the fire.

‘I know who the murderer is.’

Saying the words aloud doesn’t help make them real. Brett runs his hands over Joseph Clark’s witness report, eyes lingering on how he describes finding his own victim. ‘I have you,’ he says and something fierce inside him roars with a burning delight.

*********

Only it’s not that simple.

Half of Brett’s connections come from cases the lead detectives haven’t connected to their cases yet. If he starts going on about Joseph Clark as a murderer, he’ll need evidence he doesn’t have - not without exposing magic.

So he does the next best thing. He texts the new magic group chat.

_ Joseph Clark. Garbage man with a connection to most scenes. _

_ i know that name _ Sally texts back in an instant. _ don’t know why but i know that name _

_ It is familiar _ . Irene says, then adds _ But not in a M way. In a work way. _

_ Known to police maybe? I’m on duty in ten I’ll look it up. _ Johnny and shit, he’s on the same shift as Brett.

_ I am too shit. _ Brett sends, then checks the time. _ I’m going to have to call in sick - cover for me? _

Everyone texts an affirmative - even Tom who Brett’s sure isn’t on duty for another day and a half. 

Brett smiles.

_ Get the word out too _ . He adds frowning at his phone. _ Quietly but to everyone you can - we don’t have much time before the next one. _

_ what are you gonna do B _Sally asks.

_ Snoop _ . _ See if our resident devil wants to help. The usual. _

*********

First though, he has to make a call. 

Only Foggy is _ not picking up _ his fucking phone. Frustrated after the fifth call goes to voicemail, Brett grits his teeth and goes to Foggy’s apartment. 

Every step is nerve racking, even with a hood on to disguise his face and keeping his head down the entire walk. Knocking on Foggy’s door makes him grit his teeth at the too loud banging - someone has to hear this…

‘Brett!’ Foggy cries when he answers the door. ‘Not who I was expecti-’

‘I can’t stay,’ Brett growls. ‘Answer your damn phone next time.’ Foggy blinks and Brett uses that moment to force his way inside and shut the door.

‘I thought you said you can’t stay?’ Foggy gloats, with a small smile on his face.

Brett rolls his eyes. ‘I can’t but I don’t want to say this outside. Watch your back - I think I know who the murderer is.’

Foggy stiffens. ‘Is… is that watch your back in a specific sense, not just a general ‘watch your back’ but a specific ‘watch your back the murderer is after you’ kind of sense?’

That’s… a lot more babble than usual. Shit. ‘A general as far as I know. But we think he’s got a connection to ah, garbage collectors.’

That gets a snort out of Foggy. ‘Steer clear of garbage men. Got it.’

‘Fogs, I’m serious.’

‘I know, Foggy says with a soft smile. ‘Thank you Brett. I’ll be sure to get your Mom a dozen cigars next time I see you!’

Brett rolls his eyes again and opens the door. ‘Mom don’t need no more cigars Foggy. I’ll burn you myself if you show up with any.’

‘Two dozen!’ Foggy calls after him as he slams the door. Dodging a couple of Foggy’s neighbours, Brett makes his way down the stairs. And nearly stumbles over another, red haired man, who thinks sitting on the middle of the stairs is perfectly acceptable behaviour. 

Asshole.

*********

With a lack of any better idea, Brett goes to visit the address Joseph gave to the two detectives who managed to interview him. He’s not surprised to find someone else living there, a young Mexician woman whose English is just good enough to tell him she’s been living here a little under two months. No Joseph here but sometimes mail.

Dead end.

Brett’s phone dings and oh yes, the magic chat.

_ Got an address _Johnny texts then a bunch of random words that might be an attempt at an address. Texting somewhere he shouldn’t be, clearly. Brett would be annoyed but this really isn’t the moment.

_ snap a pic _ Sally suggests. _ Then delete _

_ Group’s secure enough _ Tom adds.

Moments later Johnny sends a picture of an address, which of course is the other side of the kitchen.

Then:

_ Oh hand on that addrsss is 9old. Got a restraining odsrr gor him at that address for Rosa garcia. _

Garcia. Oh _ fuck _. 

_ Rosa Hilt - that’s her maiden name _.

The chat is silent for a long moment before Sally sends a string of swear words; Irene echoing some of the choicer ones.

_ Git a list of places he ahd to stay away from. _Johnny adds, sending another picture of a list of addresses.

Brett scans the list but… well it’s just a list of places he’s ninety percent sure are all in Hell’s Kitchen. One or two he recognises as a business and one is the home where Rosa died but other than that… 

_ Nothing _. He texts with a sigh. 

Tom sends a string of emoji that might have meaning but Brett’s too tired to care. He turns to head home when Johnny sends another picture.

_ Joseph as of last ar3sdt. _

Ar3sdt? Oh arrest.

Then Brett sees the picture. Of a red haired man.

And starts to run.

********* 

He sprints up the stairs to Foggy’s apartment and the part of him that isn’t worried nerves and screaming muscles is not surprised to see the door is ajar. But his heart still pounds as he slowly walks into the apartment, drawing the gun he usually doesn’t carry off duty.

‘Foggy?’ he says softly as he rounds the corner and finds an apartment in disarray. ‘Foggy!’

There’s paper everywhere, books thrown off their shelves and at least two smashed lamps. The TV is on its side with a smashed screen and somehow the couch is upside down. And on half the things Brett can see there’s some sort of black mark - from Foggy’s black marker, Brett’s sure. Brett’s been threatened with that thing enough to recognise its handiwork. 

But no Foggy.

‘Foggy!’ he calls again, heading for the bedroom.

And stopping when a flash of silver makes his eyes pause on something hanging on Foggy’s wall. It takes him a moment to realise the flash of silver was the _ knife _ that’s holding the piece of paper to the wall. Underneath it is Foggy’s black marker in a dozen pieces. Like someone stepped on it.

Brett keeps his gun up as he moves to the wall. His hands clench with the urge to rip it down but he resists. He doesn’t need his hands to read it.

_ YOU CANNOT FOOL ME WITCH _

_ NOW I HAVE HIM AND I WILL HAVE YOU _

_ COME AND PLAY _

And, to Brett’s absolute delight, there’s an _ address _. 

He snaps a picture of the note and sprints out of the apartment, dialing Irene on the way.

_ ‘Brett?’ _

‘He has my…’ Brett stumbles down the last step, hand already up to flag a taxi. ‘He has my… my friend. I’m going after him; send someone here.’ He rattles off Foggy’s address without thought as a taxi pulls up. 

‘_ Brett, you can’t go alone! Where are you headed? _’

Brett mutes her as he gives the cab driver an address one block away from where he needs to be. ‘To get him back.’

‘_ Brett! _’

‘Address is on the wall of Foggy’s place, send someone after me as soon as you can. Johnny might be close.’

And he hangs up, ignoring all her protests.

******** 

The moment the cab driver pulls away, Brett draws his gun. Slowly he walks towards the address he knows Foggy is being held, each step making his heart beat. Coming from the side, Brett can see that it’s a plain looking building. Looks just like the ones either side of it, just as dusty and falling apart.

But despite the darkness in the streets, there’s no lights in any of the windows. A few are even boarded up.

Abandoned.

BANG!

Startled, Brett turns and points his gun at the rooftop behind him. But there’s nothing there-

‘Sergeant?’ Daredevil asks, his voice coming from behind Brett and only years of gun safety keep Brett from firing as he turns around.

‘Shit!’ he says as he lowers his gun to point at the ground. Daredevil’s four steps away, close enough that only a miracle would’ve had Brett missing. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

Daredevil tilts his head and despite not being able to see them, Brett’s sure he’s raising an eyebrow. ‘Same thing as you Sergeant. I’m here for Joseph Clark.’

Brett snorts and shakes his head. ‘You can have him; I’m here for Foggy.’

If Daredevil had been made of ice, he couldn’t have gone any more still then he goes at Brett’s words. ‘Foggy?’ he asks in a soft voice that somehow seems far more dangerous than any voice Brett’s ever heard him use.

It’s also a hell of a lot more familiar than his usual speaking voice.

‘He’s taken Foggy,’ Brett explains, his eyes narrowing. ‘I’ve got backup coming.’

‘They’ll be too late,’ Daredevil says in a matter of fact tone that sends shivers down Brett’s spine.

He shakes his head. ‘No they won’t, I’m going to save Foggy-’

‘Not for Foggy,’ Daredevil says turning towards the building. ‘For Joseph.’

Oh _ fuck _. Brett’s heart pounds in terror, fear clawing at his throat just at the sound of Daredevil’s voice. It sounds like… like… 

Fuck, it sounds like the devil himself just spoke. Shit.

‘No, wai-’

Daredevil doesn’t listen and takes off at a dead sprint for Joseph’s building. Swearing, Brett holsters his weapon and runs after him, trying to stay out of sight of the large windows at the front of the building. The angle is right so long as he stays close to the other buildings, he should be fine-

Ahead of him, Daredevil stops. And not in a slowed down, out of breath, drawing to a stop. But stops _ flat _, like he just ran into a wall or something. Brett’s only a few steps - okay maybe twenty steps - behind him. He’s surprised to find Daredevil running his hands along the air in front of him, like a mime feeling out an imaginary wall.

‘Daredevil?’ he asks softly, moving to stand beside the man. They’re right next to the building Foggy’s being held in; mere steps would have them under the first of its windows.

‘I...I can’t. I can’t go any further,’ Daredevil sounds _ crushed _, like someone just pulled his heart out of his chest. ‘I… there’s a wall?’

Confused, Brett takes a step forward. No wall there. He turns to face Daredevil with a raised eyebrow.

But Daredevil just shakes his head as he tries to follow Brett and _ bounces off thin air _. ‘I can’t,’ he pleads, and without thinking Brett extends a hand to the devil.

Who takes it, a determined look on his face. But the moment Brett steps back and tries to pull Daredevil forward….

Holy fuck. It feels like he is pulling at concrete. Like he’s literally trying to move heaven and earth with his human hands and finding himself wanting. It only takes a moment for his arms to start to shake, and he can’t help it.

He lets go.

‘What the fuck?’

‘Magic,’ Daredevil breathes. ‘I have it and you don’t.’

Well that’s… straight forward. Brett never thought he’d get a straight answer out of Daredevil one way or another on that. ‘And that’s stopping you coming?’

Daredevil nods. ‘A ward, to keep out unwanted magicks. I might be able to break it but…’ he looks down and bites at his lip. ‘Go.’

‘What.’

‘Go!’ Daredevil says and there’s life in his voice that hadn’t been there for the last few minutes. ‘Save Foggy; I’ll be right behind. He’s on the bottom floor, furthest room from us. Now go!’

Brett doesn’t need telling twice. He goes.

He ignores the muttered ‘God be with you’ behind him. Surely he’s hearing things.

*********

Brett is many things, but he is not completely stupid. 

He goes in through a window instead of using the door. It’s a little awkward and his movements are slower than using the door would’ve been, but he gets in with very little noise. Drawing his gun, he closes his eyes for a moment to listen.

He can hear someone muttering, close enough to make out the sound but not so close that he can understand what they’re saying. Definitely on the same floor as him though; Daredevil’s right.

Gritting his teeth and choosing not to think about how Daredevil could’ve possibly known that, Brett creeps towards the room Daredevil indicated has Foggy. 

‘NYPD!’ he cries as he burst into the room. ‘Drop your weapon!’

Joseph Clark is standing in the middle of the nearly room, just smirking at Brett while he holds a knife in one hand and a gun pointed behind him in the other. There’s not a lot of light coming in from the street but it strikes his red hair in a way that makes it look fiery. His face is so hollow, it looks like he’s not seen a meal in quite a few weeks while baggy clothes hang off his figure. His blue eyes, however, glow.

Literally glow.

And behind him is _ Foggy _, tied to a chair in the middle of a glowing circle. His eyes are open but they’re dazed, barely focusing as his head lists to the side. He’s bleeding from a head wound and Brett can see the starts of at least three bruises poking out from under his ripped clothes.

But he’s _ alive _.

‘Okay Joseph, you need to put the knife down now. Put it down and we’ll all walk out of here nice and calmly. No one has to be hurt.’

Josephy just laughs, cackling like a hyena. ‘Like hell I’m letting you devils go now I got you. I got her and it was so good and now I got you and you think you can talk your way out. Devils like you don’t need to talk; you just gotta _ burn _.’

He shifts his grip on the knife and blood starts to flow down it. Dropping it so it bounces under the couch beside him, he flicks his bloody hand at Brett sending drops of blood flying in all directions. 

Brett’s finger inches towards the trigger but no; he still has a gun pointed at Foggy. Beneath him something glows and he looks down to see an identical circle to the one Foggy’s in under his feet.

‘Got you! Let you through my wards just for this a-’

The glow flickers out.

‘- nd… what.’

Brett blinks, then looks up at the bewildered Joseph. ‘What the hell?’

‘My circle! It traps magic, all the books say it does! It got every one of those devils, what’s different about _ you _?’ Joseph looks deranged as he speaks, blood still pouring down his wrist to drip on the floor.

‘I’m not magic,’ Brett says matter of factly and steps out of the circle.

‘...the _ fuck _.’

‘I.’ Brett takes another step forward. ‘Am. Not.’ Each word is another step, until Joseph corrects his aim so the gun is pointing at Foggy’s head. ‘Magic,’ Brett finishes, eyes now on the gun and Foggy.

‘Now,’ Brett continues, ‘drop the gun and we can all walk out of here alive.’

‘You shall not suffer a witch to live,’ Joseph screams and reaches into his pocket.

Something in Brett also screams, though his to to _ get the fuck out of the way _ so he dives behind the other piece of cover in this room - an abandoned couch that looks like it’s seen far too many years. 

A fireball scorches where Brett had been standing a moment ago. Fuck.

‘You seem pretty magical, for someone who wants to kill witches!’ Brett yells and takes a peek over the couch.

He ducks down again as another fireball goes over his head. The only plus is that these fires don’t seem to stay lit once they’ve hit; going out instantly and leaving just a black scorch mark to show where they hit.

‘I have been given the power to avenge the righteous. The devil took her because of me and I had to cleanse her soul but now I have endured the tests of the Lord and will bring the devils among us to Justice!’

Oh great. Just what Brett needed, a fucking rejected asshole on top of everything else this monster is.

Poking his head up, Brett tries to figure out if he can get closer. Joseph is up against the far wall and he’s muttering nonsense to himself; drawing on the wall in blood, Jesus Christ-

‘Get out of there Sergeant!’ _ Daredevil _ cries, his voice distant like he’s yelling at the top of his lungs from the street. ‘Please, get out!’

Brett looks towards Foggy whose eyes are wide. He’s struggling in his chair, making a lot of muttered noises.

Dropping his gun, Brett reaches under the couch and grabs the dropped knife. He leans over as far as possible and scratches at the floorboards until he cuts a line into the outer circle.

It stops glowing. Now the only light is coming from the far wall, from whatever Joseph is doing with the symbols on the wall.

‘Get out of there!’ Daredevil yells again and Brett darts forward, grabbing Foggy’s chair and dragging it behind the couch. In two quick moves he cuts the ropes at Foggy’s wrists and back but there’s not enough time to get his legs. Instead he flips the chair over so Foggy is on his side and lies down beside him.

Brett feels at Foggy’s neck until his hands close on the pendant there and he looks into Foggy’s eyes. ‘Protection?’

‘Algiz,’ Foggy whispers and lifts his shaking hands to grab Brett’s. Closing his eyes, Brett imagines the rune Aunt Anna made him memorise as a child and focuses on Foggy. On his trust that, no matter how much of an enemy Foggy’s grown up to be, he’s not the type to let anyone get hurt.

On his trust in _ Foggy _.

Foggy has to live. Something twists in his gut and for a moment he can see his gun in his mind’s eye.

The room explodes, just as Brett hears a bang from the floor where he’d been standing.

An absent minded part of Brett notes how quiet the explosion is, on how little warmth he can feel. But the rest is focused on Foggy’s cold hands over his and on the boiling hot crystal in his hand.

Finally it becomes too hot to hold and Brett has to release it. He starts to gasp for breath, unaware until that moment that he’d been holding it. Sound rushes in and he realises that beside him Foggy is doing much the same, wheezing and whining in pain with each breath.

‘Foggy!’ Daredevil cries and Brett can hear someone stumbling around outside the room. ‘Sergeant Mahoney! Foggy! Foggy!’

A long moment then he calls again. ‘Foggy! Brett! Where are you?’

‘In here!’ Foggy finally cries as Brett open and closes his mouth but can’t seem to make a sound. ‘Ma- Daredevil! We’re in here!’

Foggy’s voice isn’t very loud but that’s all it takes. Daredevil is in the doorway when Brett rolls over to look, not surprised to realise there’s no couch in the room anymore.

Actually there’s not much of a room anymore, period.

And of course, Joseph is gone. There’s a few bloody runes on the wall - which is about all that’s left of the building - and Brett decides to ignore that the section of wall is roughly the same size as Joseph was. That’s… not a point he wants to think on.

Wait. Is that a body?

Brett pulls himself to his feet as Daredevil pushes past him, falling to his knees beside Foggy. Brett pats his pockets until he finds his pocket knife, which he dumps in Daredevil’s lap before moving across the room.

‘Is he dead?’ Foggy asks in a drowsy voice that’s basically a slurry mess. Good thing Brett’s got years of experience translating drunk Foggy into English.

‘I got in,’ Daredevil says as if that explains everything. ‘Ward fell the moment he died.’

Oh, maybe it does explain everything. ‘Any damage outside? That was a hell of a blast.’

‘Damage seem to be contained,’ Daredevil says. ‘Whatever you did to survive kept the blast in too.’

Brett checks the body. No fire damage but oh boy, there’s a small hole in the man’s head. Looks like a gunshot, which is going to be good fun to explain. Especially since Brett’s certain his gun has just been incinerated in the blast and won’t be available to help clear his name.

Already Brett can see the suspension he’s facing while the brass tries to figure this out. He should feel terrified but right now all he can do is stare at the hole in the head of the man who just tried to incinerate him. 

‘Sergeant, are you alright?’ Daredevil asks and Brett turns in time to see him pull Foggy to his feet. And then help him back down when his knees give out.

Nodding, Brett moves back to Foggy’s side and kneels down beside him. Well, falls down beside him. Foggy’s legs aren’t the only ones shaking ‘Just not looking forward to the investigation on this one.’

‘You saved me?’ Foggy says.

Brett just shakes his head and looks away. And then away from the body because suddenly he can’t stand to look at it either. ‘There’s what looks to be a gunshot in that monster’s head and a house blown to bits. Won’t matter much to the brass who I saved if they can’t figure out a series of events that make sense and mine’s the only gun here.’

‘But you’re not the only one able to fire it,’ Daredevil says and Brett snaps his head up to stare at him. ‘I’m not sure what caused that hole but if it wasn’t you who fired well… it’s just one more reason they’ll be chasing me.’

‘You’ll give them that? Actual evidence you might’ve been a murderer rather than the circumstantial shit Fisk tried to pin on you?’ He should be feeling gleeful right now, be delighted that they might have enough to get a taskforce to hunt the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen down. Might manage to bring in this man, or even kill him in the hunt.

But after tonight, all he can manage to feel is dread. How can he hand this man to his own police force when he’s _ volunteering _ to take the metaphorical bullet for him?

Daredevil nods. ‘For you, yes.’

‘Why the _ fuck _ would you do that?’ Brett roars, or tries to. But he can’t seem to master anything emotion but stunned disbelief.

Daredevil tilts his head. ‘You saved a life Officer, I’m offering to protect your career. It’s not equivalent but it’s a good start.’

Brett shakes his head. No, no, no. ‘I didn’t do it for you _ Daredevil _ and I don’t want you to reward me.’

‘A blessing then,’ Daredevil says and reaches across Foggy for Brett’s hand. Something settles in the air, stealing away the sounds of the street and the approaching sirens until all Brett can hear is the sounds the three of them are making.

‘May I?’

Brett pauses, biting his lip as he runs through every bit of magical etiquette Aunt Anna taught them. Daredevil wants to bless him… wants to use his magic to make Brett’s life better… Daredevil, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen who Brett hadn’t even pegged as a witch until this whole awful day started…

The man who was willing to risk his _ life _ just to protect Brett’s career. The man Foggy seems to care deeply for.

What can he do but accept? He nods and belatedly remembers to use his words as well. ‘I’ll accept.’ 

Daredevil smiles, softer than anything Brett’s ever seen on his face. ‘For the safety of those you protect, may you be protected. For the love of others, may you be loved. For the justice of the silenced, may you always be heard. For the fortune of New York, may you always be fortunate.’ 

He lowers his head as his grip on Brett’s hand tightens and something warm spreads through Brett. ‘And for the life of my friend, may you always _ live _ .’ The warmth in Brett’s veins _ burns _ for a moment, before it disappears as if it was never there. ‘Good luck Brett,’ Daredevil says in a _ familiar _ voice.

‘Good fortune Witch Hunter,’ Foggy says groggily, breaking the silence.

‘Not a Witch Hunter, Fog,’ Brett snaps as he takes his hand back from Daredevil. ‘Kinda the opposite actually.’ 

He stands, Daredevil following a moment later.

Foggy is helped to his feet by Daredevil, leaning heavily on the vigilante’s shoulder. For a moment an image of Foggy doing the same thing against Murdock’s shoulder flashes before Brett’s eyes but… no. Daredevil’s almost exactly the same height but he’s broader than Murdock could ever hope to be.

Though he is wearing body armour…

‘You’re a Witch who is a Hunter,’ Foggy slurs and tries to take a step, cutting into Brett’s thoughts. Daredevil’s quick movements stop him falling over. ‘A Witch. Hunter.’

‘Not a Witch Foggy.’

‘Huh.’ With that, Foggy closes his eyes and from the way Daredevil sags, Brett’s sure he’s taking the full weight of their friend. Brett steps back to Foggy’s side and throws the other arm over his shoulder. 

‘I’m not going to lie,’ he says to Daredevil. ‘But if you’re not here when they arrive I might… fudge the truth a little.’ He looks down. ‘For the good of Hell’s Kitchen.’

Daredevil smiles and nods. ‘For the good of Hell’s Kitchen.’

He helps Foggy to the somehow still intact stairs and settles him in against Brett’s side. Then he darts away, just as the first police cars start to pull up.

Brett prepares himself to lie through his teeth.

The things he does for Foggy.

*********

It turns out, there’s not actually a lot of lying Brett needs to do. Irene - no MacDonalds, she’s here as a detective - is one of the first on the scene and she locks it down instantly. Johnny - oh who is Brett kidding, they’re here as the Magic Cops not the regular police - helps, getting Brett into an ambulance before any of the brass show up and guarding it like his life depends on it.

Irene interviews Brett and never has a detective asked more leading questions. Yes Brett came here because he went to visit his friend after Foggy failed to answer his phone and found the note. Yes, he called Sally Gomez for backup but his phone died before he got the address to her. Oh yes, it was incinerated in the blast, can’t be checked to see if it is actually dead and it is certainly not been passed from Johnny to the ‘gawking’ Tom over there.

Yes he had his gun. No he didn’t fire it, look there’s no gunpowder on his hands. Yes he dropped it when he sprinted out of the building with Foggy and yes, last he saw Joseph was standing by the wall before the place exploded. Yes, it was that Joseph Clark, stalker of Rosa Hilt. 

Unspoken is the fact his first murder was the day after Rosa’s wedding. The official record Irene’s pushing for will hold that his first murder was Rosa and her new husband; which lead to his murder spree of the last few days. A small lie, to protect magic which might leave Brett’s stomach twisting but will serve justice well enough.

Oh yes sorry. More questions. No he didn’t see where Daredevil went. No, he didn’t see Daredevil in the building before it exploded but he did see him there so… 

Oh no, no conjecture. Just a vigilante, a possible gun wound, and an explosion that was probably a dead man’s switch.

Brett has to hide smile at how much of that isn’t a lie. 

He convinces Johnny to show him to Foggy’s ambulance, hoping to ride along with his… his Foggy instead of having to take his own. 

To his surprise, Foggy is awake and almost as bright eyed as usual when he approaches. ‘Hear you saved my life in there,’ Foggy says like he woke up on the stairs.

‘Yeah well. Ma would never me live if she’d heard I left you in there.’

Foggy just smiles at that and offers Brett his hand. ‘Thank you,’ he says and something warm tingles inside Brett. It’s the same warmth he felt when Daredevil blessed him and for a moment he lets himself soak in it.

‘You’re welcome,’ he finally says. ‘But don’t make a habit of it.’

‘Me?’ Foggy says, all outrage and Brett settles into familiar bickering as the paramedics work around the pair of them.

Foggy might be the reason this whole mess became his problem but somehow, Brett can’t find it in himself to be mad. 

He has no regrets about this whole magic business.

No regrets at all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Good Fortune Witch Hunter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20391565) by [Shuufleur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shuufleur/pseuds/Shuufleur)


End file.
